


We're Not Alone Anymore

by ChasingRabbits



Series: A Couple of Kooks [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Babies, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Human Castiel, Human Crowley, Human Meg, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long-time Best Friends Castiel and Dean live in a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Hollywood, California. When Dean gets a call from a previous one night stand, he gets some unexpected news. </p><p>When he gets a call from the hospital nine months later, he and Castiel both experience an unexpected life change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not Alone Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> "So don't think you're going, you're not going anywhere  
> You're staying and taking your share  
> And if you get afraid again, I'll be there"
> 
> Family - Dreamgirls

She never was the maternal type; she felt more like a parasitic slug had been growing inside her for the last nine months rather than a chubby, scrunchy faced baby girl. Pallid, sweaty, and flat out exhausted, she turns to face the window before the nurse can even ask, “Miss, would you like to hold her?”

The view isn’t much, just some trees and the cracked asphalt roof, blurred by waves of oppressive July heat. It’s more favorable than looking a wailing baby in the eye and feeling, _knowing_ , that she does not want her.

The next morning, amid the hustle and bustle of nurses switching shifts, she dresses herself as fast as she can, drapes her hair over her face, and makes a break for it.  She leaves her baby, leaves her rigid parents and her judgmental coworkers, leaves it all in the hopes that both she and her child can live the lives they want, that they deserve.

**o**

It’s thick, tattooed arms that are the first to hold her.

It’s a gravelly, emotional voice that first gives breath to her name.

“ _Emma_.”

 _“That’s the name Lydia filled out on the birth certificate. We’ve tried_  
to locate her, but she has no emergency contacts. She just left us your name  
and number.”

It’s a broad chest and soft shoulder that she first calls home.

_“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here.”_

* * *

 

“Cas!”

Castiel rolls over in his bed and slings his arm over the large mass of fur settled beside him. Whatever Dean wants, it’s too early to deal with.

“Cas!” Dean calls again, and pounds on his door. Their apartment is small enough that the two of them can practically hear each other breathing from the other room. There is absolutely no reason for Dean to yell, or for him to pound on his door.

The knocking persists.

“What!” Cas yells back. “I’m asleep.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel’s bedroom door swings open, “This is important.”

From his place on the other side of Castiel’s bed, Archie growls.

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Cas grumbles and pushes himself up. He grabs his glasses off of his nightstand rubs a hand through his hair.  

Dean looks like shit. He has dark bags under his eyes and a pallor that only corpses can boast.

“What’s wrong?” asks Cas.

“It’s Lydia,” Dean gulps.

“Who?”

“Ugh,” Dean groans and counts back in his head. “Like, two months ago. Chick with the kinda blonde hair and nice rack?”

“You can’t possibly think my brain has the capacity to store every woman you’ve slept with who fits that description,” Cas rubs his eyes under his glasses.

“Halloween,” Dean supplies. “Drunk beyond all reason.”

“Oh, her,” Castiel stifles a yawn. He was in bed by ten o’clock on Halloween, sick with the flu, though he distinctly remembers waking in the middle of the night to some rather vigorous headboard banging from the other room.

“She’s pregnant.”

Castiel goes very, very still.

“And you’re the father?”

Dean nods.

Cas narrows his eyes, “Is she sure?”

Dean shifts on his feet, looking anywhere but at Cas. They’ve been friends for ten years now; the only time Dean has evaded eye contact like this was the time he’d gotten the clap from his prom date.  

“She’d never been with anyone else,” he explains, and Cas lets out a tired sigh.

Of course Dean would find the one virgin in Hollywood and knock her up on the first go.

“What is she going to do?” he asks.

Dean shrugs and sits on Cas’ bed, right at his feet. “Keep it,” he says, “She’s, y’know, uh. Yeah.”

Cas tries not to narrow his eyes, but Dean seems to forget the most critical part of their friendship: Castiel is not a mind reader. _Y’know, uh, yeah_ doesn’t really cut it.

“Well,” he tries to propel them forward. “Does she want your help?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shakes his head, “I’m meeting her in an hour to talk about it.”

He lets out a breath and declares with paralyzing terror, “I’m gonna have a kid, man.”

“You should probably wait until you actually talk to her before you go making all these wild assumptions,” Cas points out, but it must not be all that helpful because Dean just gives him _a look_.

“Okay, well, move,” Cas throws his comforter to the side and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I need to feed Archie. C’mon, bud.” He pats the bed and Archie hauls himself up.

They both watch as Archie wheezes his way down the tiny staircase at the bottom of Castiel’s bed. Dean looks up at Cas and raise an eyebrow.

“If you’ll pardon me, my ward is in need of tending to,” Castiel stands and shuffles out to the kitchen.

“What are you doing today?” Dean leaps up to follow him.

“Making coffee, feeding my dog—“

“Later, dick,” Dean scowls. Cas sighs and grabs Archie’s food from the cupboard under the counter.

“I have an article to get into Naomi by tomorrow morning,” he says. “I’ll probably take Archibald out for a walk at some point. Why?”

“Come with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Cas shakes his head.

“Dude, that’s some weak shit,” Dean accuses.

“How?” Cas nearly throws a cupful of dog food over the floor.

Archie lets out an indignant little bark, and so fills the bowl on the floor while Dean implores, “I’d do the same for you.”

“You can’t compare the situation,” Cas raises an eyebrow, “I don’t go around having unprotected sex with suggestible women.”

“Only ‘cause you’re gay.”

“ _Bisexual_ ,” Cas insists, “And that isn’t what keeps me from having unprotected sex with suggestible, young, _fertile_ women.”

“Better than having sex with stuffy old limey dicks,” Dean shrugs.

“I am very curious to learn how you believe this conversation is going to work out in your favor,” says Cas, but he refuses to go any further in this conversation before he at least gets a pot of coffee brewing.

“Please?”

Cas sighs and hangs his head. There’s barely room for the both of their bodies in their tiny kitchen—there’s certainly no room for both of their egos as well.

“When are you meeting her?”

“Fuck man, _thank you_ ,” Dean throws his arms around Cas’ shoulders and gives him a stiff kiss on the cheek. Castiel has mostly stopped blushing when Dean shows him affection, but there’s something about this moment that makes him red.

“I’m bringing Archie, though,” Cas insists as Dean disappears into the bathroom. He finishes preparing the coffee maker just in time to hear his phone buzz from back in his bedroom.

Crowley’s name comes up on his screen, and Cas sighs, resigning himself to answer, “I’m currently not seeking applicants, thank you for calling.”

“Well, no need to be so droll,” Crowley jests back. “Listen, my morning’s suddenly freed up, I’ll be over in two shakes.”

“No,” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Not today.”

“My, my,” Crowley tuts. “Naomi must just love the number she’s done on you.”

“I’m sure she does, but it’s not that,” Castiel sits on his bed. He’ll make it in a minute.

“You sound troubled, love,” says Crowley, indifferent, the distinct sound of the engine in his sleek black car otherwise drowning him out.

Castiel sighs and looks down at his knees.

He really doesn’t want to talk about this, least of all with Crowley.

“Fine,” Crowley states. “I rescind my acceptance of your invitation—“

“You invited yourself.”

“Perhaps another time, ducky,” Crowley smacks a kiss into the receiver. “ _Ciao_.”

Cas purses his lips and ends the call.

To be fair, he doesn’t want to go with Dean to talk to this girl any more than he would want to have sweaty marathon sex with Crowley before he had to redress and go back to the office.

Mostly, Castiel just wants to be left to his coffee, his unfinished article, and his dog.

He settles in the living room with all three of those things and lets out a sigh. He’s been editing for Naomi right out of college, and thanks to a technical error (his porn thumb drive and his work thumb drive look irresponsibly similar) and a looming deadline, he got to discover that he actually writes pretty decently for an audience of girls ages twelve to seventeen.

Two cups of coffee and plenty of not-writing later, and Castiel sees Dean emerge from his room all gussied up in his finest jeans and t-shirt.

“That Lydia is a lucky lady,” Cas whistles.

“Bite me,” Dean snips back, wrenching open the refrigerator door and peering inside.

“Dean,” Cas lolls his head back on the couch. “You know that I support whatever decisions you and Lydia make.”

“Cas, I’m warning you,” Dean peers precariously over the fridge door. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

“I was planning on at least putting on a pair of pants,” Cas replies primly. “I’m going along for moral support. I plan on sitting at the table behind you and politely listening to your conversation while I pretend to play games on my phone.”

Dean sighs, “Ugh, fair enough.”

Another half an hour and the three of them are out the door. It’s gorgeous out, which not many can boast on the second day of the New Year. Especially not many who get a wild hare up their ass and decide to blow town and move to Hollywood when they’re eighteen.

Cas got lucky, doing what he did. He could have easily drained all of his savings and run back home to the financial security of his parents, but he didn’t. And he’s glad for it too, because the next year Dean decided to follow him, and it’s been the two of them ever since.

It sort of has to be, since neither of them is particularly stellar at making friends.

There’s a Starbucks right around the corner from them, where Dean told Lydia that they would meet. As they move out of their residential street and out into the open, more people start to surround them. A man and woman jog by, turning the heads of both Cas and Dean.

“You know what’s nice about today?” asks Dean.

“New Year’s resolutions?” Cas cocks his head at the sweat and the heaving chests and the ripples of muscles.

“No snow,” Dean cocks his head the other way, eyes travelling up the female runner’s tanned, exposed legs.

“Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes. “You could at the very least be a little more subtle.”

“What?” Dean shrugs.

“Keep in mind you are meeting the mother of your potential child,” says Castiel. “And that there are repercussions for having unprotected sex.”

“I know that,” Dean scowls and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Obviously you don’t,” Cas shrugs. “I can name all— _all—_ of the STIs you’ve contracted in the tenure of our friendship. You didn’t learn anything when you had parasites leaping off your crotch—”

“Hey, easy,” Dean warns.

“—so naturally the universe decided the only way to teach you a lesson was this.”

“The Miracle of Life, by Castiel Novak,” Dean gives a wistful sigh. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Archie lets out a low growl.

“Don’t look at me,” Dean accuses, “He’s the one being a dick.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but does not argue. He just tugs Archie along, nearly lifting him off the ground by his harness. He murmurs a quick apology, at which Dean snorts, and they continue on their journey.

“Whoa, hey, that’s her,” Dean nods at the young woman sitting at a table in front of the Starbucks.

Oh, well that is unfortunate.

Lydia is attractive, yes, but it’s the type of attractive that wouldn’t make a lasting impression. She also happens to look absolutely terrified, on par with Hester Morris realizing six weeks after homecoming that she was on the fast track to becoming an unwed teenage mother.

“Dean, how old is she?”

“She told me she was eighteen,” Dean defends himself.

Castiel does _not_ like the note of uncertainty that colors his voice.

“Do you appreciate how fucking blasted the two of us were?”

“Do I appreciate that you had a sloppy drunken romp with someone who is possibly not even old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes?” Cas’ eyebrows go up into his hairline. “No, Dean, I do not appreciate that.”

“Look, there’s no sign of Chris Hansen, so just cool it,” Dean levels a placating gesture.

“I’m not going with you when you have to go door to door telling people you’re a pervert,” says Cas. “I will not do it.”

Dean doesn’t respond to that, just shoves Cas’ shoulder hard as he walks by to join Lydia. She catches Castiel’s eye, but if she recognizes him she doesn’t make it known.

And it doesn’t seem to bother her that Cas takes a seat at the table right behind them, facing the opposite direction with a book in hand.

“Thanks for meeting me,” she says. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“Well, here I am,” Dean replies. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you.”

Cas tries not to roll his eyes, and instead cracks the spine of--damn it.

 _The Chicago Manual of Style_.

He has got to start paying more attention to the books he just grabs off the shelf.

“Dean, I’m so sorry--”

“Hey,” Dean’s voice gets low, soft. “This isn’t your fault, okay? We were drunk, we were idiots… it happens.”

“I just didn’t expect this, you know?” Lydia’s voice goes thick with tears, and okay, maybe Castiel is a dick because he rolls his eyes wholeheartedly at that.

What? What else would anyone expect from having unprotected sex? It’s a simple process that is crucial to the natural order and progression of the species, and still people are squeamish enough about it that they’d rather let poor kids like Lydia believe they can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex instead of just _having a conversation about it_.

Biology happens, no matter what the societal structure would have you believe.

“What’s, uh,” Dean clears his throat. “What’s the plan?”

“I have to keep it,” she says, somewhat scandalized. Castiel opens up whatever mental connection they’ve built between the two of them and tells Dean to just _leave it_ , not to say a damn thing other than, _“okay, what do you need from me?”_

“Okay,” Dean sighs. “Well, whatever your deal is, it’s cool. What do you need from me?”

 _Good boy,_ Castiel wilts with relief.

“Nothing,” Lydia says then, and Cas’ ears perk up. “I’m putting  
the baby up for adoption, I’ve already decided.”

“Oh.”

There’s an ache deep down in the centermost part of Cas’ heart.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Dean lets out a soft sigh. “Um, just thought you were gonna keep it. Like, in all senses of the word.”

“I-I can’t, Dean,” says Lydia. “A baby deserves good parents. I’m… I’m eighteen. I can’t be a mom. I’m not ready.”

A long stretch of silence before Dean replies, “Okay. That’s… okay. Um, but if you need anything—I’m serious, like, anything—just give me a call. You know where to find me. I’ll make sure you’re in my phone.”

Archie unfolds himself from where he’s parked at Cas’ feet, and sniffs around until he finds Dean’s leg.  When Dean doesn’t bend to scratch him behind the ears, he lets out an indignant bark.

“Arch, come on,” Cas hisses.

“I’m sorry, do you know him?” asks Lydia. Cas sighs and shuts his book so that he may shift his seat and join Dean and Lydia.

“Hello, Lydia,” he greets. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “He’s my roommate.”

“I was asked to tag along as moral support,” Cas explains. Fear still sloughs off of Lydia in thick sheets, and Castiel immediately feels remorse.  Lydia and Dean are rightfully terrified, and it’s not until now that Castiel remembers.

 _Empathy_.

He has been hanging around Crowley for far too long.  

“Have you told your parents?” he asks.

“It’s just me and my mother,” Lydia supplies defiantly before she looks down at the table. “And no, I haven’t.”

Castiel sighs and looks at Dean, who looks more like the twelve year old that he met in a rundown arcade in Sioux Falls than the twenty-three year old with a steady job and a credit card designated solely for the procurement of new body art.  

And then it hits him.

 _Meg_.

Cas reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, “Would you mind if I referred you to someone?”

“For what?” asks Lydia.

“She’s a counselor,” Castiel pulls her card out of his wallet and sets it on the table. “She used to work out of Planned Parenthood, but—”

“That’s okay,” Lydia pushes the card back to him.

“She does a lot of work with families,” Castiel tries to go on, but Lydia is about as closed off as a person can get.

He takes Meg’s card and puts it back in his wallet.

“I have to go,” Lydia stands and grabs her purse from the ground. “I’ll be in touch, Dean.”

And like that she stuffs her hands in her sweater pockets and stalks off down the street, mild wind whipping through her hair.

“Meg?” Dean looks at him then. “Really?”

“Say what you want about her, she’s a valuable resource to people who need her help,” Cas shoves his wallet back into his pocket.

“Yeah, well, you don’t need help pickin’ up pussy,” Dean shakes his head. “And you could have done way better than Meg.”

The verdant cloak of jealousy shrouds his comment, and Castiel cocks his head, amused.

“Some of us can be friends with our exes, Dean,” he says. “Some of us are mature enough—”

“You fuck Crowley on a regular basis,” Dean ticks off his thumb, and then drops to a whisper, “and don’t you think I didn’t see Meg when she was over the other day.”

“You were _not_ supposed to be home,” Castiel points out.  

“And you’re not supposed to be taking a nosedive into your ex-girlfriend’s snatch on our kitchen counter, but hey,” Dean _ta-da’s_ with his hands. “I saw what I saw.”

Castiel burns a deep red.

Archie barks.

Dean looks down at his fingers.

“She’s not gonna call me, is she?”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, no.”

**oo**

Dean’s never been a putterer—he’s more of a get up and fix it if it needs fixing kind of guy. And if you can’t fix it, fix something else until you can work out how to fix what needs fixing.

But putter around is exactly what Dean does for a good long while after they see Lydia. Castiel wishes he could do something other than bring home pie from the market, but between Naomi’s impossible deadlines and his own inability to do anything other than play online Boggle, he hasn’t had time to riddle out how he’s going to piece Humpty Dumpty back together again.

And every time he tries, every time he asks Dean, “Do you want to talk?”

He’s met with a short, “No.”

Winter and spring are nearly indistinguishable in the air, but as the days get longer it’s clear to see that the extra daylight is working wonders on Dean. As long as he’s eating, hydrating, and sleeping, Cas is satisfied that he’ll be all right.

April, May, and June all gallop by in a dizzying blur. Dean is on and off with Cassie, a writer for another one of Naomi’s magazines; Castiel hasn’t let Crowley fuck him so hard since they were dating.

On the fourth of July, they do as they’ve done for the better part of the last decade and climb up onto the roof of their building. They set up twin lawn chairs, crack open a couple of beers, and watch fireworks light up the Los Angeles sky.

“Some fuckin’ life, huh?” Dean lets out a contented sigh.   

“Some fuckin’ life,” Cas agrees, and they toast their beers together.

Some fuckin’ lives change.

**oo**

It’s too hot to sleep.

Castiel tries, but hours tick away as he stares at his ceiling. He even tried turning on his TV, hoping that infomercials would lull him into some semblance of slumber, but it doesn’t help and he’s left exhausted and frustrated and begging whomsoever may be listening that they just _smite_ him already.

The sky goes light gray outside, so mellow and unassuming that Cas actually feels eased by it. It won’t be a lot of sleep, but a cat nap will be better than nothing.

So, of course that’s when Dean pounds on his bedroom door and jolts him out of his stupor.

“What the hell?” he grunts as Dean bursts into his room.  

“Lydia had the baby,” he says.

Cas sits up. Dean doesn’t look _thrilled_ , but there’s something off in his expression that Castiel can’t quite place. There also isn’t nearly enough coverage where there should be.  

“Congratulations?” he offers, averting his eyes. “Perhaps you should put on some boxers.”

“They can’t find her,” Dean says then, and meets Cas halfway by cupping his bits in his hand. “They can’t find her, they said she left my number and they didn’t know who else to call. Cas, I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Cas lets out a sleepy moan and sits up, patting around for his glasses and trying to keep the rush of adrenaline at bay for as long as possible.

“First, we’ll get dressed,” he says. “Then I’ll go with you to the hospital. We’ll take care of it.”

Dean nods vaguely and takes a deep breath. Having even that sliver of a game plan seems to have calmed him.

“Dean,” Cas mentions. “You are still very naked and very in my room.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean shakes himself out of whatever headspace he was in. “Sorry.”

Neither of them dresses like two competent adults, and Dean certainly does not look fit for fatherhood in his Jack Daniels t-shirt and a pair of tattered up jeans.

Cas supposes he looks no better, in his worn through UCLA sweatshirt, and a pair of sweats that he’s only just realized are not his, but Meg’s. They come to a stop at a red light long enough for Cas to lift his hips and look at the back of the pants.

“It says ‘ _Juicy’_ on my ass, doesn’t it?”

Too tired to hold back, Dean replies, “Well, it wouldn’t be wrong.”

Cas, also too tired to hold back, snorts.

The hospital isn’t too far, but it’s the anticipation that makes the air in the car thick and unbearable. They park, and immediately Dean starts rummaging through the ash tray for change.

“Dean, _go_ ,” Cas insists. “I can put change in a meter.”

He catches Dean’s eye, green and wide and fucking terrified, and he says, “Sitting here doesn’t make it so you don’t have a baby waiting for you upstairs.”

Dean looks up, terrified, and so Cas reminds him, “It’s going to be okay.”

Like the fool he is, Dean believes him. He pops up out of the car and jogs down the street and into the building. Castiel manages to find change and feed the meter, but before he can follow Dean he lets out a sigh and rests his forehead on the roof of the Impala.

There’s no other way to put it, just.

 _Fuck_.

The teenage mother of Dean’s lovechild jumped ship. Fuck that whole notion of women and children first, Lydia just dove headfirst into the icy water and didn’t look back.

And now Dean has a baby.

That’s surreal in itself. The thought that anyone their age is having babies is almost too much to handle, but to know that now Dean is a part of that is just plain unbelievable. Not good or bad, just… unbelievable.

He rights himself and makes his way into the hospital, vaguely wandering until a kind nurse in Alice in Wonderland scrubs points him in the right direction of the maternity ward.

This wing of the hospital has pictures of babies lining every wall--probably every Anne Geddes photo known to humankind.

“Sir, can I help you?” asks a squat nurse with coke bottle glasses.

“I’m looking for Dean Winchester,” Castiel explains. “Tall, light brown hair, tattoos.”

“Room 520-A,” the nurse indicates. “Are you family?”

“No,” Castiel replies, and offers no other explanation. In the room, Dean sits very still on the edge of the unmade bed, eyes fixed on a point all the way over on the wall. Castiel stops just at the doorway and asks, “Did I miss anything?”

“Excuse me,” comes a weary voice from behind him, and Castiel steps inside, away from the door. A sturdy, worn out nurse ekes a bassinet into the room, inside of which there is a wriggling, fussy ball of baby.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes and stands.

“She’s been crying non-stop,” says the nurse. “Lydia wouldn’t even hold her. We told her that we would arrange for her to meet with a postpartum counselor, but she refused.”

She tries to pick up the baby, but she goes from fussy to full on wailing the moment the nurse gets her hands even remotely close to her.

“She won’t let any of us hold her,” hysteria edges the nurse’s voice.

Dean comes to the side of the bassinette and reaches inside. Dean Winchester has never held a newborn before, to Castiel’s knowledge, but Dean is fearless. He always has been. He approaches holding his daughter in the same way he approached jumping his bike over the creek behind his house when he was thirteen: ready or not, there he goes.

Emma’s wails turn back into barely contained whimpers; the nurse leans against the bassinette, relieved.

Dean is a big guy, tall and broad, and to have a teeny tiny newborn cradled in his arms is somewhat out of place. It makes Castiel feel warm inside.

“Emma,” he says then, voice soft and broken.

“That’s the name Lydia filled out on the birth certificate. We’ve tried to locate her, but she has no emergency contacts. She just left us your name and number.”

Emma lets out an indignant cry at this, and Castiel immediately steps forward to do--well, he doesn’t know what, but to do something to make it stop. Except Dean seems to have that covered, as he brings Emma to his chest and murmurs into her tiny knitted cap, “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here.”

When Dean finally looks at Cas, his eyes are pink and glassy, his smile awed and disbelieving. It’s as though everything in his life has fallen into place, that everything is wrapped up in this moment, in this dense, atomic joy.

Castiel doesn’t know that he’s ever actually witnessed a human being fall in love before now.

“I have to go get the doctor on call so she can get your paperwork started,” says the nurse. “We want to get you out of here as soon as we can.”

She leaves the bassinette and marches out of the room, revitalized most likely by the fact that there’s a solution to her problem in sight.

Then it’s just the three of them--or, the two of them and then Castiel. Dean looks up at Cas again, smile still plastered on his face.

“I’m a dad,” he says.

Castiel’s lips quirk up into a smile.

When she fusses again, he bounces her softly, as though he’s been doing it all his life.

“C’mere, dude, don’t be a fuckin’ weirdo,” Dean gives a short jerk of his head. “Come say hi to my kid.”

That little permission granted propels Castiel forward. Dean cradles her back down in his arms and, wow.

Most babies look like sea monkeys.  Emma is no exception, but she is definitely the cutest sea monkey the world has ever seen.

“Hello, Emma,” he greets. “I’m Castiel. You can call me Cas, though. Everyone else does.”

“Jesus, why don’t you shake her fuckin’ hand and brag about your quarterly earnings,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Why would I do that?” Castiel frowns.

Dean rolls his eyes, just as Emma lets out a yawn.

It immediately reminds Castiel of how Dean yawns, big and boisterous, employing the whole face. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and takes a step back.

“Smile,” he says. Another eye roll, but Cas catches him smiling anyway.

“Okay, Dean,” the nurse comes back in. “We have some paper work for you up at the nurse’s station, if you could just come with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Dean looks around and then settles on Cas. “Wanna hold her?”

“Dean, I--”

“C’mon, real quick,” Dean pleads. “Lydia wouldn’t even hold her, I don’t wanna put her back in that crib.”

Cas sighs and concedes, “Fine.”

“Don’t sound so freakin’ excited,” Dean shakes his head and hands Emma over to him. It’s been a long while since Cas has held a newborn, and normally it makes him quite uncomfortable. He’s just about to mention this, but when he looks up, Dean is already out the door.

“Well, then,” Cas purses his lips. “It appears that your father trusts me enough to hold you unsupervised. That’s a good sign, I suppose.”

Emma’s squinchy little eyes open up.

They’re light blue, though Castiel knows that will probably change. She doesn’t make any sort of face, mostly because Cas doesn’t think that she can, but she does just _stare_ at him.

“I like you,” he announces then. “You and I will get along just fine.”

“Hey there Emma, sweetheart,” another nurse pokes her head in, a large woman in a pair of loud, sherbet colored scrubs. “Are you the daddy?”

“I’m his roommate,” Castiel explains.

“I see,” she gives him a knowing nod. “I’m Missouri, I’ve been keepin’ an eye on your little ray of sunshine.”

“I assume you’re being sarcastic,” Castiel lets out a laugh. “I heard she’s been screaming all night.”

“Can you blame her?” Missouri gives him a look, sauntering casually into the room, bottle in hand. “I’d’ve wailed all night if my mama wouldn’t hold me. But that’s okay, you got this nice handsome fella takin’ care of you now, isn’t that right?”

She offers Castiel a small smile and asks, “Would you like to feed her?”

“That seems like something her father should do,” he says.

“Well, a father’s _roommate_ is still a father,” Missouri winks and, oh.

“Oh no, it’s not like that,” Cas shakes his head.   

Emma lets out a little wail, and Missouri gives Castiel an impatient look. “Would you just hush and feed the poor child?”

She puts the bottle in Castiel’s free hand and helps him guide the nipple to Emma’s mouth. When she starts suckling, relief floods the little nooks and crannies in Castiel’s chest, little nooks and crannies he didn’t even know that he had.

“There we go,” Missouri smiles and then looks up at Castiel. “I take it you boys weren’t expecting a baby.”

“We’re not together,” Castiel finally manages to edge into the conversation.

Missouri raises an eyebrow, and continues, “Most couples have time to nest before their baby comes. It’s not so easy when they get dropped in your lap like this.”

Suddenly every single logic piston in his brain shakes free the grime of sleeplessness and heat exhaustion and starts pumping over time. He’s vaguely aware that Missouri is still talking, but he can’t hear her.

There’s a _baby_ in Dean’s life now, a not-even-ten-pounds wriggly, fussy, poop factory who needs to be fed and changed and loved beyond all reason and doubt because this is a _human_.

And because Dean is the only other person that Castiel has in his life right now, that means that there is a baby in his life as well.

Without so much as an ‘excuse me’, Castiel exits the room and makes a beeline for where Dean hunches over the nurse’s station.

“Sir, we can’t have you doing that out here,” says the nurse behind the desk, just as Dean jumps three feet out of his skin, “Jesus, Cas!”

“Dean, you have a baby,” he says.

“Astute observation, Joe fuckin’ Friday,” Dean blinks at him.

“Dean, we do not have baby things in our apartment,” Castiel helps him along. Dean pauses and then lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters.

“Sir, we do not tolerate that kind of language here,” the nurse behind the desk insists.

“I highly doubt this is the first time anyone has ever sworn in the maternity ward,” Castiel replies as Dean spits back, “We don’t tolerate _your_ kind of language here.”

“Sir, you are in no position to sass me when it’s your credit card that has just been declined,” the nurse.

Dean groans, “ _Fuck_.”

“My wallet’s in my sweater,” Castiel replies. “Give her the Visa.”

Dean just turns and gives him this almost offended look.

“Cas, I’m not letting you pay for this.”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel says. “You can pay me back, but please, we have a lot to do.”

Dean levels a glare at him and reaches inside the pocket of Castiel’s sweater, never once breaking eye contact with him.

“I thought you said you two weren’t married,” says the nurse.

Castiel narrows his eyes just as Dean does the same, looking at her nametag. “M-A-R-I-A,” he spells out. “That’s weird, I’ve never seen Nosy Nelly spelled that way.”

She snatches Castiel’s credit card from between his fingers and runs it through the machine.

Dean takes over feeding Emma so that Castiel can sign the receipt.

**oo**

“Well, well. Who would have thought Mr. Quintuple Birth Control would be calling me for an emergency baby kit.”

Castiel suddenly finds himself questioning what exactly attracts him to such smug people.

“I appreciate it, Meg,” he says as she ties her hair up in a bun, off of her neck. It’s too hot today, even for her. Even the reigning queen of pasty legs, deigned to wear shorts out in the open.

She steps up to the sidewalk, right up to where Cas waits by the Impala, and gives him a onceover.

“Nice pants there, Clarence,” she smirks. “They don’t make those in men’s sizes?”

“No, they do not,” Cas shakes his head. “And while we seem to be on par, asswise, my dick is a little bigger than yours.”

“Aw, I missed you too, sweetie,” Meg pinches his face between her fingers and then opens the car. “So, I didn’t have everything lying around for the total emergency kit—”

“Then why is it called an emergency kit if it’s not actually prepared for an emergency,” Cas poses.

“Because I love it when sanctimonious dickhead college boys nitpick at my word choice,” Meg shrugs. “Call it a guilty pleasure. Now, let’s try that again.”

Castiel’s face falls flat.

“Thank you, Megan Masters, for coming to my aide in this hour of need,” he monotones.

“Aw, don’t suck up,” Meg wrinkles her nose. “Now, you got a car seat, diapers, baby wipes, baby powder, a stash of onesies, but I would not underestimate your need for any of that. The emergency stash is to get you through the next twenty-four hours, max.”

“Okay,” Castiel nods. “Thank you, Meg. This is very kind of you.”

“I do it for the children,” she says. “Let’s get this crap into your screaming metal death trap.”

Castiel takes the keys out of his sweater and unlocks the Impala.

When he said that he’d called Meg, Dean looked up from where his daughter lay perfectly cocooned in his arms, and just handed Castiel the keys.

“So, where’s your baby daddy?” asks Meg.

“Up in the maternity ward with his daughter still, I imagine,” Castiel replies.

“Well, at least he has an excuse to avoid me now,” she says. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“Don’t take it personally,” says Cas as Meg helps him jimmy the car seat into place.  “He dislikes the fact that I’m still sleeping with you.”

“What’s he dislike about it exactly?” Meg bends forward to click all the little parts into place, the curve of her ass just now visible under the hem of her shorts.

“Probably the part that I’m still sleeping with Crowley, too,” Castiel shrugs and pushes up the sleeves of his sweater.

“Well, old news,” Meg laughs. “You’ve been fuck buddies since dinosaurs roamed the earth.”

“It never bothered you?” asks Castiel as he makes himself useful hauling the diaper supplies into the other side of the back seat.

“I’m a polyamorous pansexual, kiddo,” Meg rights herself. “Only thing that bothers me is self-righteous dudebros in backwards caps.”

Castiel nods, “Right on.”

“Sounds like he’s jealous,” Meg concludes, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I’ve mentioned that to him, but it didn’t garner much of a response,” Castiel slides his glasses up his sweaty, shiny nose. “He’s had one long-term relationship, and that was when he was nineteen and first moved out here. When he and Lisa broke up, it took him months to get over it.”

“Aw, what a marshmallow,” Meg gives Castiel a grin.

“Exactly,” Castiel nods, “He’s very emotionally… reactive. He couldn’t talk to an ex-lover.”

“Let alone fuck ‘em,” Meg nods. “Such a shame. What a repressed way to go through life.”

“That’s what I thought,” Castiel shrugs. Meg nods again, and the conversation goes stagnant.

She asks then, “You kids gonna be okay?”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Castiel sighs, and then offers her a smile. “Thank you again, Meg.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she grins back at him. “You’ve still gotta get the crib outta my trunk.”

**oo**

Dean stares at the jumble of wood pieces on the floor of his room. Castiel pulls the instructions from the pile and reads aloud, “ _Sniglar_ ”. 

“The fuck is that?” Dean raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel replies plainly, “I did not buy it.” 

“I’m not putting my kid in some piece of shit Ikea bed, Cas,” says Dean. 

“Being that we don’t really have another choice, you may just have to deal with it,” Castiel unfolds the instructions. “It looks to be a fairly simple construction.” 

“Yeah, I’d like it not to have a simple destruction, thanks,” Dean snatches the instructions from him. “Jesus tap dancing Christ.”   

From her place in her car seat, on Dean’s bed, Emma watches with a stern lack of expression. 

“Don’t worry,” says Castiel. “I promise he’ll be much more patient with you than he is with furniture.” 

“Cas will you get the fuck down here and help me?” 

The windows are all open, they can smell the hot asphalt and baked earth wafting all the way up from below. Even the air that blows in through the windows is warm, but the breeze is at least nice when they start to sweat. 

Castiel never had to build much of anything, being the youngest of five. Everything he had had already been used by one or more of his siblings. Dean was always better at shop stuff, and has much more of an attention span for this kind of thing anyway. 

Between the two of them, they get the crib built fairly quickly.  

“Okay, baby,” Dean lifts her out of her car seat. She wears a yellow onesie with a butterfly on the front. “Look what daddy and Cas made for you.” 

Emma looks unimpressed. 

“Her face doesn’t move too much, does it?” Dean asks. 

“It would appear not,” Castiel steps forward without another thought and brushes the back of his finger over her soft, chubby cheek. Castiel knows this should really be a daddy-daughter moment, but he can’t help himself. He kind of likes this girl’s style already. 

“Cas,” Dean says then, but doesn’t continue until Cas meets his eye. “Thank you, man. Seriously, this was really, really cool of you.” 

“It’s not a problem, Dean,” Cas clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his sweater pockets. “Emma, I have to shower, but would you please inform your father that he’s being ridiculous?” 

She licks her lips and wrinkles her nose. 

“That’s actually a fair point,” he nods. “Very well, consider my request cancelled.”

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, and Castiel looks up at him. 

When had he bent down to Emma’s level? 

“Meg says it’s important to talk to babies all the time,” says Cas. 

“Yeah, like narrating what you’re doing, not having fake conversations with them.” 

Castiel looks at Emma, who regards him with a wary gaze, and says, “I agree with you, but he’s very tired. Hm? No, that doesn’t excuse him.”

“Okay, okay, dad bashing is over,” Dean shoos Castiel out of the room.

“Sure it is,” Castiel nods, and mouths at Emma _‘Call me’_ before Dean shuts the door in his face.

**oo**

Babies cry.

A lot.

Castiel knows that it’s just her way of communicating, because she has needs that she doesn’t even realize are needs, she’s just uncomfortable and she doesn’t know why.

It’s been a week and a half, but it feels like it’s been years. Time starts to slow when you don’t sleep, all the minutes and hours blending into one long chunk of wakefulness. The entire apartment now smells like diapers; Archie does not like the sound of crying infants any more than anyone else does; it is not possible to have enough diapers; Dean is a downright bear when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep; why is it that diapers are so expensive again?  

Last night was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Castiel had finally succumb to stage three exhaustion, had finally managed to make it to the event horizon of sleep, when Emma had started wailing at the top of her tiny little lungs.

He’d grabbed his phone, and at one in the morning texted Crowley, _“Pick me up.”_  

Crowley is one of those people who, as Dean says, gets paid way too much for doing way too little. As the only child of a single mother who worked two jobs, who’s been working since he was eleven to put himself through school and to make sure his mother never had to want for anything ever again, Castiel tends to think that Dean does not give Crowley enough credit.

Crowley may be a cold bastard ninety-nine percent of the time, but he has a comfy bed and naught but a white Persian cat named Edith populating his condo.

Castiel wakes to the decadent smell of fresh ground gourmet coffee and rolls over under the warmth of the duvet. Crowley is on the other side of the bed, sitting up against his headboard with his computer in his lap and reading glasses perched down on the very tip of his nose.

“You’re awake,” Crowley states, not looking away from his computer as he types.

“I am,” Castiel stretches under the covers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Three in the afternoon,” Crowley replies. “Afraid you’ve slept away an entire Saturday, darling.”

“Why are you still in your pajamas?” asks Castiel.

“I didn’t want you to feel underdressed when you woke,” Crowley finishes typing and gently clicks his laptop shut.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Castiel yawns.

“Well, you know me,” Crowley settles down beside him. “I snatch up any opportunity to be the white knight.”

“I do recall that,” Castiel nods. “Especially when your seventeen-year-old boyfriend got fall-down, vomit-in-the-bushes drunk at that fraternity house and you wouldn’t take him home right away.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Gabriel had to come get me because you weren’t ready to leave,” Castiel reminds him.

 Crowley gives him a smile and strokes his cheek, “People change, love.”

He presses his lips against Castiel’s, cradling his face in his hand.

 _People_ change.

Crowley has always been and will always be (in Dean’s words) a self-righteous dick.

“Tense,” he murmurs as he pulls away from Castiel’s lips, kissing over his scruffy face and neck. “Very tense, ducky. Not good for you at all. You’ll have a heart attack if you don’t relax.”  

Castiel sighs into the feeling of Crowley’s fingertips on his skin. Like most things with Crowley, it’s all business. He strips Castiel of his pajamas and quickly rids himself of his own.

Make no mistake: Crowley’s efficiency by no means has any adverse affects on his performance. It’s been so long that they’ve been having sex, Crowley plays Castiel like a master plays a violin. He knows what every hitch of breath means, knows exactly where to finger, where to pull and where to stroke.

And it feels good. It feels nice, having Crowley buried deep inside him. It’s nothing like the hot, heavy, borderline aggressive sex he and Meg have (he has come out of more than one of their romps concussed), but it’s not tepid or tender either. It’s a means to an end, as it always has been between the two of them, and what a mind-blowing means it is.

Here he can forget about the last week – the last months, really. He can forget Dean’s hollowed out, dejected face when he realized he would never hear from Lydia again, when he thought he’d never know his child. He can forget the weathered, aged eyes of his best friend as he’s edged on his third day of no sleep and a fussy baby.

He can forget the abject joy he saw on Dean’s face the first time he held Emma in his arms.

Castiel comes first, back arching off the bed, legs wrapped around Dean’s waist and—

Oh, shit.

Just— _shit_.

Crowley’s hips start pumping faster, and Castiel holds on tight to the ironwork on the headboard, bracing himself as Crowley comes deep inside him.

Crowley.

“Well,” Crowley slides out of Castiel and rolls off of the bed to dispose of the condom. “Now that we’ve done that. Care for a late, _late_ breakfast?”

“Sure,” Castiel stretches into the bed and rolls over to grab his phone off the nightstand.

There’s a text from Dean, “ _where are you”_

_“Crowley’s. Needed some sleep.”_

He feels bad the second he hits send. He loves Dean, and now Emma obviously, but he can’t go on the way he’s been going on.

It’s nearly six o’clock when he gets back home. Archie heaves himself up off of his place on the floor and bounds over to him as best he can. He sniffs at Castiel’s shoes, at his legs, and lets out reproachful bark.

“Oh, what do you know?” he asks. He scratches Archie behind the ears and calls, “Dean, I’m back.”

He’s here; the Impala is out front.

“Dean?”

Castiel kicks his shoes off and pads over to Dean’s door and twists the knob, pressing inside slowly. Emma looks to be asleep in her crib, and Dean is passed out on his bed with his laptop propped open. It touches a soft spot of fondness in Castiel’s chest, and he tiptoes forward very carefully to close the computer.

Except when he sees the bright white screen he frowns before he can stop himself.

It would be just then that Dean jerks awake.

“Cas, what the hell?”

“I’m home,” says Castiel very plainly. “Dean, why are you looking at apartments on Craigslist?”

Dean rubs his eyes and sits up.

“C’mon, man, don’t do that,” he grunts. “We both been here lately, we know what’s been happening.”

“At this point, I don’t know that I do,” Castiel scrolls through the listings. To rent most of these places would cost more than Dean makes in a month. Castiel pays most of their rent as it is, while Dean covers utilities. It’s by no means a fair trade, but it works for them.

“Cas…” Dean slumps forward, voice made rougher by exhaustion. “You had to leave the house to get a full night of sleep. Tell me that’s not fucked up.”

“I’m not saying that it isn’t,” Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. “But that doesn’t mean you have to find somewhere else to live. Dean, this is your home as much as it is mine.”

Dean lets out a laugh and rubs his hands over his face, like he doesn’t believe a word coming out of Castiel’s mouth.

“C’mon, man,” he sighs, “I can’t stay here with a baby.”

“You’re not ‘staying’ here, Dean, for the love of God,” Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but—“

“Emma is your daughter, I am your best friend,” says Castiel. “I love you—“

“Man, come on.”

“—and I already love her. I don’t want either of you to go anywhere.”

Dean looks up at him, “Really?”

“Of course,” Castiel sits down on the bed with him. “You’re all that I have here. You underestimate how obscenely dull my life would be without you.”

“What about Crowley?” Dean snipes back, probably before he could think twice. Castiel sighs.

Dean may have followed Castiel out west, but it was only after Castiel went tagging along after Crowley.

Emma gurgles from her crib, and Dean hops to his feet. He scoops her up into his arms and starts bouncing her, pressing kisses to the top of her head. Again, Castiel’s heart thuds warmly in his chest.

“You have always been and will always be more important to me than Crowley,” says Castiel.

Dean pauses momentarily in his bouncing to look at Cas long and hard.

He clears his throat and looks away.

“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, huh?”

“More so it’s one of the few instances where speaking the truth isn’t blatantly offensive,” Castiel shrugs.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’d come over there and kiss you right on the mouth if it didn’t have Crowley’s cock all up in it.”

“Very classy,” Castiel rolls his eyes and stands, trying to keep the color from his cheeks. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

“Uh…”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” says Castiel. He thinks there’s some ground beef in the freezer. He can cook up a little chili in the crock pot.

“Cas?”

Castiel turns back to Dean.

“Thank you, man. Really.”

Castiel smiles and looks down to Emma. He nods, “I know, but you get used to it, trust me.”


End file.
